


Conflict Of Interests

by Petronelle



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-06 21:29:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14656605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petronelle/pseuds/Petronelle
Summary: Olivia and Esmé discuss their arrangement.





	Conflict Of Interests

**Author's Note:**

> Written on mobile, will correct formatting when I get back to my PC

There is little that is even half as chilling as the sensation of an unknown intruder climbing into bed with you at night. Even when the intruder smells of silk scarves and has a voice as black and sticky as liquorice, it is still an altogether alarming affair. For Olivia Caliban, it was an especially concerning turn of events, for the intruder who was presently straddling her was the very same woman who had not only plotted Olivia's murder, but successfully murdered others on more than one occasion. On so many occasions, in fact, Olivia might have called them "numerous". Whilst nocturnal intrusions are seldom welcome, such visitations are particularly discouraged if the guest in question happens to be a murderer, due to the fact that murderers are generally not the most ideal or comforting company one could keep. In fact, murderers are often thought to be unsuitable for many aspects of human companionship. Indeed, Olivia found Esmé Squalor to be thoroughly disagreeable - a word which here means "a feckless and morally bankrupt criminal" - and was most displeased to find her draped languorously upon her lap. She pushed Esmé away, her hands fumbling to light the lamp by her bed. Esmé huffed and pouted, adjusting herself so that she was seated at the end of Olivia's bed, her expression impatient.  
"What do you mean by it?"Olivia demanded, an acerbic edge to her voice that was quite unlike her, though many people might be similarly cold and unwelcoming were they to find themselves entangled with a murderer in the middle of the night. "Clambering onto one's person without so much as a how-do-you-do."  
Olivia looked thoroughly indignant.  
"How do you do?" drawled Esmé sarcastically, her voice poured treacle as she leaned forward to lie on her front beside Olivia, propped up on her elbows and resting her chin in her hand. "Such pleasantries are awfully tiresome, my dear, and you might be aware -although one could be forgiven for making a presumption of ignorance regarding such things, considering your pitiful fashion sense- that tiresome things are very much _out_."  
"What do you want?" Olivia replied tersely, ignoring Esmé's barbed remarks.  
A smile that seemed to be both a snarl and a smirk crept across Esmé's lovely face, all at once making her seem terrible and beautiful.  
"Darling, we made an agreement," Esmé said softly, raising one perfectly manicured hand to fuss with the decorative ribbon at the collar of Olivia's nightgown. "This is what we _do_."  
"I told you after the hospital I didn't want to do this anymore," Olivia said sharply, lowering her voice and putting on her glasses so she could see Esmé better to frown at her. "This is clearly a conflict of interests."  
"If I'm interested and you're interested, then where is the conflict? It's not like we get together and exchange plans and secrets," Esmé said, looking at Olivia as though she was perhaps the stupidest person she'd ever seen. "It's just sex. It has nothing to do with anything, not the Baudelaires, not the schism."  
"The sugarbowl?" Olivia said pointedly, and Esmé began to untie the ribbon at her neck.  
"Darling you know how fond I am of a sugarbowl. And I know you never begrudge me the opportunity to dip into yours in the absence of my own," she breathed, baring her teeth. Olivia shivered.  
"That's not what I meant."  
"Does it matter what you meant?" Esmé responded, raising an eyebrow. "The most pertinent concern here is that _I_ want _you_."  
Olivia sighed softly, aware she couldn't argue with Esmé's logic; Esmé did not mix business with pleasure, it was true. She came, she came, she left. It's how it always was, and Olivia was used to it. Sometimes she stayed the night, but they never discussed VFD, Olaf, the Baudelaires. All she wanted was sex, though Olivia suspected she also rather enjoyed the company.  
"I'm waiting, darling. If you're in doubt of just how little this has to do with anything, ask Jacquelyn," Esmé said slyly.  
"What? What does Jacquelyn have to do with anything?" Olivia replied, flushing slightly. She was embarrassed by the flicker of jealousy that flashed across her features; she knew exactly what Jacquelyn had to do with her and Esmé's arrangement.  
"You know, I think on anybody else it would be a pitiful exercise in making conversation with a badly dressed person even more unbearable, but I must say I find your speech impediment very endearing," Esmé said absently, ignoring the question.  
"That's a weird fetish," Olivia snorted, suddenly feeling very aware of her lisp.  
"I promise you darling, we both have weirder; we just haven't found them yet," Esmé whispered leaning in to graze her lips against Olivia's neck. "All the more reason to continue as we are."  
"Why not do all this with Jacquelyn?" Olivia said stiffly.  
"Darling, are you jealous?" Esmé replied, her eyes alight with a beautiful, deadly delight.  
"Not at all," Olivia answered, slightly too quickly.  
"You're an abysmal liar. Anyway, if it makes you feel better, it was only once. I took her roughly over her desk after the bank closed," Esmé said smugly.  
"Why?"  
"It was Secretary's Day," Esmé shrugged.  
"No, I mean why the bank? I've been to the bank, it's perhaps the least appealing financial establishment I've ever visited," Olivia replied, shuddering slightly as she remembered Mr Poe and his constant coughing.  
"For the CCTV footage," Esmé said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I like to step back and admire my work after I've completed it."  
"Of course. Your narcissism is just..."  
"Adorable?"  
"I was going to say repellant, but sure."  
Esmé rolled her eyes and moved to kiss her, but Olivia stopped her just short, enjoying the frustration in Esmé's eyes, the way she panted softly through slightly parted lips as though she could not bear to be kept from her desires.  
"It was more than once, wasn't it?" Olivia asked quietly.  
"What?" snapped Esmé, irritated by Olivia's interruption.  
"With Jacquelyn," Olivia pressed. Esmé shrugged.  
"What's a little oral a few times a week between members of opposing factions of a secret organisation that have ideals directly at odds with one another but are nonetheless ridiculously sexually compatible?" she said breezily, sliding her blouse off her shoulders. Olivia slipped her nightgown over her head almost begrudgingly, and allowed Esmé to push her back onto the bed and begin kissing her chest with an almost feverish passion.  
"If you're jealous, darling," Esmé said nonchalantly between kisses. "We could always get together and see what happens. Very modern."  
"Are threesomes _in_ or is this another fetish?" Olivia asked cautiously.  
"Darling, it doesn't matter; you didn't say _no_." 


End file.
